I was standing on this thick block, about six inches off the ground, knees locked, body stiff and frozen, struggling to keep balance in a pair of four inch, silver stiletto heels. A wave of nausea crashed over me. I could feel this iciness, this cold overwhelming the pits of my stomach. Churning. Blending together, crushing the ice into one freezing, acidic smoothie. My eyes, they were suddenly so heavy. My mom. I looked at her. She was on the phone, facing away. I furrowed my brows...at least I think I did. I thought I did. I did it in hopes she would recognize my plea for help. Graining. My vision was graining on the edges, creeping closer and closer, almost spider like, to a fresh, prickly cover. Don’t go I thought. No, Mama, don’t leave. She was disappearing little by little. “Ah.” I moaned. I think I did. I thought I did. The sound...it was gone. And my face, the left side, the temple: numb. It felt like the grain in my vision was spreading it’s nuisance onto my body, pricking pins and needles along the left side of my face. Then my arms. Then my legs. And then BOOM it was black.  

Why was she screaming? And why was I on the floor? Why did my head hurt so much? I opened my eyes, and looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard as I adjusted to the fluorescent lights flickering in the dry cleaners. “Call 911!” I could hear her screaming, her typical maternal scream, the scream no one could ignore. That scream could be heard from miles away, Mama Bear.

“She’s awake!” My mother knelt down next to me. I groaned. I think I did. I thought I did. “Rachel! Say something!”

“Uh,” I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them again. I glanced my numb body up and down. I was in a prom dress. Why was I in a prom dress?

A small, fragile looking, old woman was sitting on the floor in the corner within my vision. She was sobbing.

I tried to lift my head, but it wouldn’t budge. I know what this is. I thought. This is my tumor. I’m going to die. I took a deep breath. It’s okay. Stay calm. Death will be calm as long as you are. Another breath. I tried to lift my hand and wave goodbye to my mother. I wanted her to know I loved her before I left. I wanted to say goodbye and tell her not to cry, that things would be alright, that she wouldn’t waste any time mourning me, and that all I wanted for her was her to live her life and do all the things she wanted to do. I wanted to say so many things.

Sirens. I could hear sirens, and people yelling, and my mother coddling me, urging me to speak, not urging...begging. But it all sounded underwater morphed and incoherant. It felt like a dream. I didn’t feel humanity. I didn’t feel obligated to respond. “Rachel please?” My mother was crying.

“Don’t cry.” I whispered.

“Do you know where you are?” She pressed.

“Dry cleaners.” I mumbled.

“What year is it?” I paused for a second.

“2019.”

“Who is the president?” I couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

“Trump.” I rolled my eyes.

“She’s okay,” my mother sighed.

I was less convinced death was about to take me. I could give it a couple hours. I wasn’t scared. Death comes as death pleases. And I had to make peace with that fast. I should’ve gotten that damn MRI awhile ago, but oh well, you live and you learn...or, I guess in this case live and then die because you didn’t get that damn MRI but…

Two fire engines and one ambulance. Hey guys, I’m not that a big a deal. Wait sexy firemen are coming and I’m wearing this ugly prom dress and my hair is a mess. It was not the ‘bon voyage’ goodbye party I had pictured. Deep breaths equal peace. Make peace. I had to make peace.

Somehow, laying on the ground, feeling tears push at the corners of my eyes, I felt so content and at peace. Because I was sure I was going die having had a good week, and that was something I never thought I’d have again. So kill me then and there, tumor, gunman, heart failure, I’d have been okay with that. Because I would achieved the impossible.

You know for some people, living life to the fullest means skydiving, swimming with sharks, or even for some just feeling that they belong, and despite those things all being on my list of hopes and dreams, I had checked number one, number hardest off. I was happy after being sexually assaulted. Life actually progressed happily. It wasn’t just a good stroll home to a feel good song. Not just splashing in some puddles in the middle of the night, forgetting life's troubles. I was happy, in school, out of school, and on the ground thinking I was about die. I was truly content, come what may.